


one heart to every falling thing

by 100demons



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 13:46:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8492116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100demons/pseuds/100demons
Summary: “You know,” Victor comments idly, and he breathes out in a rush of static in Yuri’s ear. “I think this is the longest we’ve been apart since I first flew here.”Post-Episode 5.





	

The work of wings  
was always freedom, fastening  
one heart to every falling thing.

 _One Heart_  
Li-Young Li

 

* * *

  
The cold metal is soothing against the sweat on his forehead, and Yuri stands there for a little while, propping himself up against the door of his hotel room. His neck itches from the heavy, damp weight of his nicest suit jacket and he can feel the sweat pool in his shoes, toes squelching against his wet socks. 

He feels strangely hollow on the inside, like an empty semblance of a human figure hurriedly pasted together by careless hands. Yuri looks blankly at the smooth beige color of the door, so close that he can make out the tiniest ridges and marks. His thoughts muddle along, syrupy-slow, and Yuri can’t quite figure what to do next. 

Of course, with perfect timing, the phone in his hand lights up with Victor’s name. 

Warmth rushes through his face, heating up his wet cheeks. He fumbles to answer the call, dripping fingers sliding uselessly against the screen of his iPhone, until he has the sense of mind to dry his fingers on the collar of his white button-down shirt. 

“H--hello?” 

“Yuri!” 

“Victor,” Yuri breathes out, and the thick cotton cloud numbing his thoughts softly fades away. He’s suddenly all too aware that he’s standing in the hallway outside his room, and even on a phone line miles away in Hasetsu, Victor’s presence fills up the unoccupied space. “I-- sorry,” he says, tucking the phone in the crook of his neck as he digs through his coat pocket, searching for the card key one of the interns with JSF gave him after the press conference. “Give me a second, I’m just about to go in.” 

“No problem!” Victor says, and Yuri can nearly see the sleek, amused grin curling on Victor’s face. “I thought you would have gotten in a little earlier though. Did you get held up after?” 

“Uh,” Yuri mumbles, thinking of how tired he felt, just moments ago. How long had he stood like that, unseeing? Minutes? Hours? An eternity? “Something like that.” 

Somehow, he manages to fish out the plastic card and jam it into the metal slot on the door. With a cheery beep, the door locks pops open and it swings inward, revealing a small, neatly furnished hotel room with a balcony overlooking the glimmering lights of Tokyo at night. 

“Hmm,” Victor hums, and Yuri recognizes it as a _we’ll-talk-about-this-later_ sort of noise. He’s not sure what makes him more nervous: the fact that Victor knows that Yuri’s not giving him an entirely truthful answer, or that Yuri knows what that little _hmm_ means. Maybe both. 

“I see,” Victor continues, before launching into a spirited commentary on the horrors of Yuri’s necktie, throwing in the occasional Russian or mangled Japanese word here and there. He listens with half an ear as he shucks his nice dress shoes, peeling off his soaked socks and letting them sit in a forlorn puddle by the foot of the bed. His coat, tie, and suit jacket follow, until Yuri is lying back in bed in nothing but slacks and a half-unbuttoned shirt, mindlessly listening to Victor chatter about colors and knits and patterns and Windsor knots. 

“Maybe a dark shade of blue would suit your coloring better. What do you think?” 

Yuri blinks. “What?” 

“Necktie colors,” Victor says, patiently.

“Blue is nice,” Yuri says, slow, trying to muddle through and marshal his thoughts into some semblance of coherency. “But I like the color green too,” he adds, absently. “Like your eyes. They’re a nice color.”

There’s a long pause. 

Yuri bolts up into a sitting position and he can practically feel the steam wafting off his head from the force of his blush. “I mean--!” 

“Do you think so?” Victor sounds-- Victor sounds _pleased_ , like he hasn’t heard the same things a hundred, no a thousand times before by adoring fans all over the world. “Thank you, Yuri.” 

It’s like the press conference all over again. Yuri feels hot and terribly, horribly vulnerable, his head shaky and dizzy like he’s looking down at the world from the top of Skytree. And yet, somehow, completely free. 

“You’re welcome,” Yuri says feebly, pressing one hand against a glowing cheek. 

“You sound tired.” 

Yuri straightens a little and opens his mouth to protest, but then he remembers the press of cold metal against his forehead, the eerie emptiness in his head. “I think maybe a little,” he admits finally. “I forgot how crazy Tokyo media is. And uh, I may have...been a little excited earlier.” Yuri tries to clear his throat. “During the main event when I announced my theme.” 

“I think that’s the most passionate I’ve ever seen you off the rink,” Victor observes and for one wild moment, Yuri is both stupidly grateful and strangely disappointed that Victor doesn’t understand Japanese. “It suits the theme of love that we talked about.” 

“Erm, yeah, I guess,” Yuri mutters and he half stumbles off the bed, heading for the glass screen door that separates the room and the balcony. He shoves it open, and a rush of cold, wet air washes over him in welcome, cooling down his absurdly warm face. It feels good, even as tiny drops of rain start to dot the lens of his glasses and blur his vision. Yuri steps out, just a bit, and leans against the jamb, listening to the sound of city sirens filter through the steady rainfall, so different from the tranquil hush of Hasetsu and the piercing cry of the gulls. 

Yuri doesn’t say anything for a long moment, soaking in the comfortable silence. 

“You know,” Victor comments idly, and he breathes out in a rush of static in Yuri’s ear. “I think this is the longest we’ve been apart since I first flew here.” 

Yuri starts a little, as he counts back towards that snowfall in April. Hours spent in the chilly comfort of the rink, skating side by side; days in the gym, conditioning under Victor’s watchful eyes; weeks, living under the same roof, eating meals at the same table; months, sitting together by the seashore, watching Makkachin dart excitedly to catch scurrying crabs. “Oh,” he says. “I suppose you’re right.” 

“Were you…Did you…” Victor starts and stops anew and Yuri slowly realizes that Victor, five-time Grand Prix final champion Victor Nikiforov, ice skating sensation, is struggling to say something. “Why didn’t you want me to come with you?” 

It’s strange to hear the uncertainty Yuri knows so well in himself reflected in Victor’s voice. Unbidden, he thinks back to that moment on the rink, when he couldn’t help but poke at the endearing little part in Victor’s hair. 

“It’s not because I don’t _want_ you to be here,” Yuri begins, feeling his way blindly through the conversation. He blinks and rubs at his glasses with his free hand, but the water just blurs and his glasses get hazier. “It’s because...I needed some space,” Yuri says, careful. “The press conference, this one especially, it’s something I needed to do on my own. To show the world that I’m not who I used to be. And…” 

He didn’t plan on saying much, if anything during the press conference. Except all throughout the train ride from Hasetsu to Tokyo, Yuri couldn’t help but feel as if something were missing every time he turned his head to mention something to Victor and found a salaryman deeply engrossed in reading the morning paper. Each time his phone vibrated with a message from Yuuko or Mari or Minako-sensei on LINE, Yuri felt something tight and all too real squeeze his heart.

“It clarified some things, in a way I hadn’t thought about before.” 

There’s another “Hmm” and this time it’s a smug _I’m-a-clever-genius-who-knows-all_ sort of noise from Victor. “You know, the Nishigori girls found me an English translation online of your speech a couple of hours ago.” 

Yuri’s mind goes blank. “What?” he croaks out. 

“You’ve got a talent for going viral this year,” Victor says cheerfully. “You could have just told me you missed me over the phone, not on national television. And how unfair, saying such things without giving me a chance to respond.” There’s a pause, and it almost sounds as if Victor’s voice is faltering. 

“I--” 

“Is that rain I hear?” Victor demands suddenly. 

“Yes?” 

“Did you get wet walking back on the way to the hotel?” 

Yuri looks back into the room, where the drenched puddle of clothes stares at him accusingly. “Uh,” he says, feeling a deep emotional whiplash as Victor rapidly changes the subject. 

“You’ll catch a cold,” Victor says reprovingly. “China’s coming up in a few weeks, we can’t have you in less than top condition if you want to make it to the finals. Hurry up and get into the shower. I’ll see you tomorrow when you get back home.” 

“Alright, alright,” Yuri says, a little dazed. “I’ll text you when I get on the train.” He’s halfway in the middle of stepping back into the room and closing the glass door behind him when he realizes that Victor still hasn’t hung up. 

“Yuri?” Victor says, quietly. 

“Yeah?” 

“Come back safe. I don’t want to let go of you either.” 

The line cuts off sharply and Yuri’s left looking down at his phone, cheerfully displaying an old picture of Vicchan on its homescreen. He thinks of Victor’s outstretched hand, the strength in his arms as he pulled Yuri up that day at the beach, the emerging sunlight glittering like a halo on soft silver hair. That day, Victor met him where he was, and asked for no more than Yuri could give. 

A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. Tonight, for the first time, Yuri can meet Victor where he is.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] one heart to every falling thing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9167467) by [Hananobira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hananobira/pseuds/Hananobira)




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